power fluctuations jump-start nonexistent hearts
title. power fluctuations jump-start nonexistent hearts
fandom. twilight
characters. kate/garrett
rating. pg-13
Dark cloaks contrast with the white of the snow, moving smoothly forward through the trees. There is no sound but that of feet, yet even that is so soft that it can hardly be heard. Gray, dark gray, black - the deepest shadows stand in the center, the others spilling out perfectly and fading away.
The end is almost upon them.
Two females, fingers interlocked in the cold, meet their last sister's golden orbs, unspoken words hanging in the air between them. They have never said them because they are overused, cliché - and isn't the meaning behind them already understood in their smiles, their eyes, their embraces?
Maybe they should have.
Irina speaks (I'm sorry), and Caius raises his hand. A scream, the screeching of nails down a chalkboard - and thick, black smoke rises up into the air, its smell obscuring the poisonous sweetness, burning, burning, burning.
The Volturi burn Irina as if she were a witch, not a tragic lover, an agonized soul. They burn her, the sinner, and incinerate the sin that began it all (love, love, love). They burn her because they give no second chances.
When Irina dies, three hearts stop beating.
-
Kate wants to fall like Irina has, blond hair intermingling with the pure white snow instead of ashes and smoke and black dust. She lunges forward, not pausing to wait for tears that she knows will never come; all she feels is numbness, and that pushes her forward -
Then Garrett's arms are around her, and she falls, and sparks fly (granite against granite and electricity, electricity). There are no words for the rising emotion in her, nothing at all, and the shocks come like waves that break and destroy (three hundred tsunamis, three hundred one, three hundred two).
Yet he holds on.
When the waves subside, she shudders, and he holds her to the snow, his murmured words rough but more real than anything that she has heard in a long, long while. Then she is still, and she feels his mouth against her hair for the swiftest moment.
I'm sorry.
They're a pale repetition of Irina's words, an unmeant imitation.
If she could cry, she would do it now.
Tears heal wounds (none keep them raw).
-
She's hollow like a grave - a grave she should have been buried under one thousand years ago. When the Volturi leave, Garrett raises her up as if she were a child, as if she weren't hundreds of years older than he is. He fills her with something that she doesn't understand.
She enjoys it. She doesn't know if what she feels is love or something else (relief), but she doesn't mind. For a moment there is nothing - no gravity, just the feeling of weightlessness, of life.
Then once again it sinks in.
-
Power fluctuations (lust, hate, love, hate) and hands warmer than a thousand volts on her, around her. She needs to release it all, and he helps her, but he gives her so much more than she gives him (and it isn't pain).
They give and receive, and this time nobody dies.
When it is over (and sounds of their breathing melt into the dark), she looks up, stares up at the starless sky, and wonders where the pain has gone.
In the darkness, his hands find hers.
-
Two sisters leave Forks, hands entwined. It is too early for them to celebrate, to stay - so they return to Denali, where memories assault them day by day in the kitchen, in the bedroom, in the ash-white snow.
Tanya. Kate. Carmen. Eleazar.
Irina, Irina, Irina.
Still, though she is gone, they are five.
Garrett.
It takes long, but eventually Tanya begins to smile again.
It takes longer, but finally Kate begins to love.
-
The wind blows once again, and the falling snow mingles with the ashes of a fallen immortal.
END.
fandom. twilight
characters. kate/garrett
rating. pg-13
Dark cloaks contrast with the white of the snow, moving smoothly forward through the trees. There is no sound but that of feet, yet even that is so soft that it can hardly be heard. Gray, dark gray, black - the deepest shadows stand in the center, the others spilling out perfectly and fading away.
The end is almost upon them.
Two females, fingers interlocked in the cold, meet their last sister's golden orbs, unspoken words hanging in the air between them. They have never said them because they are overused, cliché - and isn't the meaning behind them already understood in their smiles, their eyes, their embraces?
Maybe they should have.
Irina speaks (I'm sorry), and Caius raises his hand. A scream, the screeching of nails down a chalkboard - and thick, black smoke rises up into the air, its smell obscuring the poisonous sweetness, burning, burning, burning.
The Volturi burn Irina as if she were a witch, not a tragic lover, an agonized soul. They burn her, the sinner, and incinerate the sin that began it all (love, love, love). They burn her because they give no second chances.
When Irina dies, three hearts stop beating.
-
Kate wants to fall like Irina has, blond hair intermingling with the pure white snow instead of ashes and smoke and black dust. She lunges forward, not pausing to wait for tears that she knows will never come; all she feels is numbness, and that pushes her forward -
Then Garrett's arms are around her, and she falls, and sparks fly (granite against granite and electricity, electricity). There are no words for the rising emotion in her, nothing at all, and the shocks come like waves that break and destroy (three hundred tsunamis, three hundred one, three hundred two).
Yet he holds on.
When the waves subside, she shudders, and he holds her to the snow, his murmured words rough but more real than anything that she has heard in a long, long while. Then she is still, and she feels his mouth against her hair for the swiftest moment.
I'm sorry.
They're a pale repetition of Irina's words, an unmeant imitation.
If she could cry, she would do it now.
Tears heal wounds (none keep them raw).
-
She's hollow like a grave - a grave she should have been buried under one thousand years ago. When the Volturi leave, Garrett raises her up as if she were a child, as if she weren't hundreds of years older than he is. He fills her with something that she doesn't understand.
She enjoys it. She doesn't know if what she feels is love or something else (relief), but she doesn't mind. For a moment there is nothing - no gravity, just the feeling of weightlessness, of life.
Then once again it sinks in.
-
Power fluctuations (lust, hate, love, hate) and hands warmer than a thousand volts on her, around her. She needs to release it all, and he helps her, but he gives her so much more than she gives him (and it isn't pain).
They give and receive, and this time nobody dies.
When it is over (and sounds of their breathing melt into the dark), she looks up, stares up at the starless sky, and wonders where the pain has gone.
In the darkness, his hands find hers.
-
Two sisters leave Forks, hands entwined. It is too early for them to celebrate, to stay - so they return to Denali, where memories assault them day by day in the kitchen, in the bedroom, in the ash-white snow.
Tanya. Kate. Carmen. Eleazar.
Irina, Irina, Irina.
Still, though she is gone, they are five.
Garrett.
It takes long, but eventually Tanya begins to smile again.
It takes longer, but finally Kate begins to love.
-
The wind blows once again, and the falling snow mingles with the ashes of a fallen immortal.
END.